The Body
by N-I-N-T
Summary: It was too late, there was nothing more that they could have done. Sort of a high school AU
1. Chapter 1

_**The Body**_

 **Part 1 of 7**

Ash's limbs stretched out far while he sat in his seat during sixth period. He was so ready to leave French class. He had no idea why he took the stupid class to begin with—wait, yes he did. Misty and his mother were as persistent as a group of rapid hyenas around a roast duck. Vicious when challenged; he had no other option but to comply.

"You need to learn a second language!" His mother and girlfriend would scream at him all throughout the last three years of his high school life. He did not _need_ to learn a second language, they _wanted_ him to learn one! It was uncalled for and unfair _and...ugh._ Ash had never been the brightest apple on the tree, so school was hard enough without the tedious effort of memorizing a new language's complete vocabulary. He could only borderline write in his native tongue, how in the world did they expect him to learn another?

He tapped his fingers on the desk, itching for the sweet release that swimming practice would bring him. 3:15 could not come fast enough. Tapping his sneaker against the carpeted floor below, he dart his eye around his fellow classmates, some of them were taking notes, a few were trying to pass off texting below the chairs, but Ash just tapped his fingers away on the desk; eying the clock like like an animal stalks its prey.

He counted down to one minute; which meant in less than sixty seconds he would be back out in the world where he wanted to be. Ash was only about a week or two into his last year of high school, his senior year. Homecoming week bellowed along the hallways, streamers hung up around lockers and throughout classrooms and the air was doused with a cheerful nature. Not to mention they were able to attend school wearing whatever they wanted this week instead of their normal, stuffy uniforms—but more importantly; as any seventeen year old would; he wanted to see his _girlfriend_ who spent the summer in swimming camps.

The only reason she joined the swim team was so he could spend a little more time with her. It had _nothing_ to do with the uniforms. _Nothing._

The bell rang, and Ash was the first one up, shuffling-practically sprinting towards the exit doors. His teacher couldn't even speak her closing goodbyes before Ash was out of the side door and through the hallway, shooting past the flood of other students. The pools were up the hill towards the gymnasium, but he waited below the catwalk for his red-headed companion. She had calculus as her sixth period so she was only in the next building over.

Ash stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and whistled earnestly as he tapped his foot against the pavement below. Only two weeks into the school year, and he couldn't wait for winter break! The end of the day was the best part—especially when he stood apart from the shade, taking in the sweet summer air.

"Hey, man." The deep voice of his oldest friend, Brock rounded the corner of the pillar beside Ash as the students spilled out of the building, racing for the bus stop; others to the student parking lot which was on the way to the gym. Ash smiled.

"Hey, Brock. How was Human Anatomy?"

"...They're going to make us dissect frogs." he grimaced with a shudder that forced Ash into a laugh. Brock was a wonderful student, but his queasy stomach made Ash wonder if he would become a successful doctor or not—maybe he could be one of those sit-behind a desk doctors? Ash grinned.

"How was french." Brock quirked a playful eyebrow, shooting the raven-haired teen a grin.

Ash inhaled and wiggled his eyebrow, awkwardly stammering. "Bien. Ou' est la salle de bain?"

"...er.." Brock's face fell slightly, half impressed, half-in pain. That was the worst accent he had ever heard. Ash's mouth flat lined, trying hard not to laugh.

The older boy admit sheepishly. "I have no idea what you just said."

Ash, almost giddy, was more than pleased to clap his hands facetiously and reply: "I asked to use the washroom."

"You're learning the language of love and you learn to ask that?" Brock smacked his forehead, glancing at the approaching figure.

"Hey, it gets me out of class." Ash murmured, partially offended.

Brock raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What does Misty say?"

Ash snickered, covering his mouth with his fingers. "Misty has no idea what I'm saying so I can say what ever I want and she _loves_ it."

"Well _now,_ Ketchum." She snarled behind him, thumping him upset the head as she found perch beside the boys. "Good to know." Misty whisked from beside him, causing Ash to spin on his heels to face her, mouth a gap. Brock wiped his nose playfully, grinning at Misty. She winked at the older man and Ash looked between them, betrayed.

Ash gasped, "Brock, why would you do that to me?"

"You were the one that said it." he retorted with a cheeky grin.

Misty snaked her arm around Ash's neck hastily, glowering beside his ear; eliciting a firm yelp from the boy. "So last night when you were saying all of those _things_ —what were you _really_ saying?"

"You better just kill me now." Ash mused pathetically as Misty tugged on his cheeks with a mischievous smile.

 **Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Swim practice was always a pain for Ash. The work out was nice, the days he got off for swim meets were wonderful—and being on a champion team was also a perk... but Brock always came with them because Misty was his ride home—plus he _loved_ to watch the girls. In Brock's own words, he could study, _and_ gawk at the same time. Ash figured that as long as his eyes didn't go anywhere near Misty, Ash was okay with what ever weird fetish he had for ogling women. Besides, three made for better company, especially if Misty was in a bad mood.

Ash was already finished with his practice for the day, and was now waiting on Misty. He stretched tiredly as he watched Misty approach him in that two piece, athletic yellow and teal swimsuit, she looked like a goddess. Laps over with, she was wrapping herself in a towel to watch the rest of the swimmers go. Ash was seated beside Brock; the boys team typically let out before the girls, so he was already showered and dressed when she approached them, leaning up against the railing to pose her question to the boy writing down notes.

"You're not trying to take pictures again, are you Brock?" Misty swiped at his hand, checking for a mobile device but found nothing but a bright blush.

"No! And I never was. I was _busy._ " Brock denied, slamming his human anatomy book closed for effect. Ash pursed his lips while wriggling his fingers against the straps of his bag.

"Brock, you didn't turn the flash off." Misty warned him, rising a chuckle from Ash's throat while Brock turned scarlet and covered his face with his hand. The incident in question was last year at the final swim-meet of the year. Brock was thrown out of the stadium and it was a sore subject.

"Now, now children." Ash intervened jokingly, getting a whistle from Misty.

"This coming from you mister-'can I use the bathroom?' What the hell even?" She pushed him against the knee playfully reaching over the railing. A worried laugh escaped his lips in return. She was difficult to read some days, he wouldn't know how much trouble he was in until _later_.

Which drew Ash to his next thought; "Are we still on for the game and then the party at Drew's house tonight?" Ash questioned, looking between his friends excitedly.

"Yeah, I thought so." Misty chirped quickly, running her thumb over her long red hair. Brock seemed flabbergasted for a moment, and then pursed his lips slightly.

"I have a test tomorrow..." He muttered, but Ash slapped him on the back cheerfully.

"C'mon Brocko! It's only homecoming week once a year! Our _last_ one at that! We need to attend all the festivities." Ash pat him harder each time he slapped the man on the back, getting a wince from each blow.

"This coming from you." Misty mocked, leaning her elbow on the railing to cradle her chin with her index and thumb. "We could hardly get you away from your pokemon video games and weird animal collection for the last three years." Misty mused sarcastically, knitting up her eyebrows.

"Well excuse me," Ash chimed. "We didn't all have popular sisters to start our popularity like _you did_ , Misty." he gushed while sticking his tongue out at her.

"'ey I wasn't popular." She denied with furrowed eyebrows.

He scoffed, remembering their early years. "You were more well known."

"People used to call me the dwarf sister—that's not a compliment."

"Really?" Ash paused thoughtfully, almost confused. "I thought that it was." He wagered with a sly grin. Misty blushed accordingly and pinched him on the thigh whilst pursing her lips.

"You are such a dolt sometimes." She sighed, though adoringly; Ash smiled lovingly in return and Brock shook his head, effectively destroying the cute moment.

"You two make me sick" he grimaced. "I miss back in middle school when Misty used to make you eat dirt." he gestured to Ash, a grin pulling on his lips at the pleasant memory.

"I don't miss that at all." Ash said quickly, painfully. "Please let that never be a thing again." He whimpered, causing Misty to laugh boldly and shake her head. She pat her two companions on the knees and then flipped them a peace sign.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and then stepped away from the railing, back towards the pool. "I'll go shower and meet you guys at my car, okay?" She waved at them and then turned, holding the towel firm against her still-damp neck. Watching her leave, Ash's head tilted and Brock lowered his eyelids at the dark-haired boy.

"Now whose the pervert?" he quipped, watching Ash nearly jump out of his skin.

 **Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Swim practice lead deep into the afternoon on most occasions; fitted with boys practice before girls so even after Ash was finished, he waited for her until around 5:00pm, which was fine on most occasions. His mom did expect him until supper time at seven, so long as he promised to 'be safe'. She was oblivious to the nature of Ash and Misty's relationship; but he thought she rather liked it that way. Preferring to remember him as her innocent boy, and not the near-college student that he was. It didn't help that Misty was already almost a year older than him and therefore more 'experienced'. If they didn't lie about practice lasting until supper time, he wouldn't be allowed time with the red-head without his mother buzzing around; even when they stayed over at his house watching television in his bedroom, she would peek in every few minutes to check in on them.

It drove the young couple crazy, but not more than her sisters. Daisy, Lily and Violet were twice the handful of Delia. They didn't only check in, they joined in; ate their popcorn, sometimes tried to hit on Ash just to see if it would work, and occasionally even brought their own dates for a forced and unwanted double date. It was frightening; so the lovers would take Delia's shy glances and home-made cookies any day.

Especially the cookies.

"Hey guys!" The blue-haired Dawn cheered from across the student parking lot, still in her cheerleader uniform. "Are you going to the game tonight?" She shouted, surrounded by a posse of the female student body. Brock had to contain his lustful sigh as he inhaled sharp.

"Yeah we are!" Ash yelped with a grin, sitting on the top of Misty's blue impala.

"Well it starts soon! Don't be late! I'll save you guys seats at the front!" Dawn cheered, throwing up her arms like a professional.

"That would be great, Dawn, thanks!" Ash said, pumping his fists joyously. Cheerfully, Ash looked to Brock who seemed utterly enthralled with the idea of attending the game now that he knew pretty girls would be there. Ash shook his head at his simplistic nature. So easy to please.

"Front row seats to watch those girls..." He said, blowing out steam from his nose as he wiggled against the hood.

Ash's eyebrow rose. "I always thought you like older women? What was her name? That police lady."

"Please! My heart belongs to all women! It's only fair everyone gets a piece of Brock!" He gasped, holding up his fist dramatically.

"Fair if you want stds." Misty corrected, drawing both of the boys attention to her. "Brock have you ever had a girlfriend?" Misty's snide remark came from just down the lane, she held her book bag over her shoulder by one strap and held a sophisticated glare as she licked her lips.

Brock's head fell. The answer was no. Brock had never had a girlfriend. Ash pat him on the shoulder gingerly. "There, there Brock. At least you don't have to worry about-" Ash paused, his eyes shifting to Misty who looked at him skeptically, as if saying 'go on'.

"It's the best thing in the world." Ash said loudly, and then leaned over to whisper. "Save yourself." Into Brock's ear, perking the man up. They slid of the top of the car as Misty unlocked the doors and shook her head. She was wearing a yellow tank top and black basketball shorts—her go-to attire after swimming practice.

When they slipped inside, even after both students had showered, the interior of the car was stained with the smell of chlorine mixed with a plentiful amount of sun screen; two of Misty's most prized possession as a frequent swimmer and fair-skinned female. If she missed sunscreen during any of their out-door meets, she turned into a lobster for several days. Ash grinned at the thought while he hiked the radio on the moment they settled in with seat belts on; switching the station over to rock music. Misty quickly changed it back to the new-age music and pursed her lips at Ash in challenge, he shrugged his shoulders, and then pressed the button again, beginning the endless roulette of their music battle.

In the back, Brock slapped his forehead hard, groaning as the two fought over control of the station. It was fruitless anyways, Misty always won—either by threatening to unbuckle him and turn hard enough that he flies out, or by, well, threatening to remove a _certain_ appendage. Both threats effectively stopped Ash from touching the radio; though Misty would always change it back to the rock station after wards. They fought over the weirdest things to be victorious, but she always gave in at the end. He wondered what their se- No, wait. Brock didn't want to know.

"Hey, after the game I need to stop over at Ash's house. I left my Statistics book there." Brock grimaced, recalling the lecture he received for forgetting it _again._ He glared at Ash. "I obviously can't rely on Ash to bring it to me."  
"Brock you know I barely bring myself to school in the morning." Ash grimaced apologetically, scratching the back of his neck. Being apart of the lower class family that he was, he walked to school every morning.

"You know, Ash, if you tried a little harder you wouldn't have to pay so much for university." Misty scolded, rolling her eyes. He was bright, he just never applied himself to anything outside of sports. It was insanely frustrating for the red-head who was on the honor-roll. Her sisters may have been prettier, but she was proud to be smarter.

"Eh..." Ash moaned, leaning back in his chair. "I plan to enjoy my young life, Mist. Not all of us can have our nose stuck in a book like you and Brock." He grinned toothily at her, and she rolled her eyes in return.

"I do not." Brock chimed from the back seat—at least Misty didn't deny her love of books.

"You do so!" Misty and Ash screamed in unison, checking the review mirror to garner evidence; he was reading his human anatomy book as they drove.

"I do not!" He denied earnestly.

"Then what are you doing now!" Misty bellowed with a laugh. Brock threw his arms up.

He whined, "I have a test tomorrow!"

 **xooxoxoxoxooxxoxoxox**

It was not unfamiliar for all of Ash's friends to pile into the small house at the end of Pallet Street. The Ketchum residence had always been a home away from home for the odd trio, even when they were kids and Misty was technically Ash's nemesis; Delia always allowed the red-head time to feed and wash herself away from her berating sisters. Brock was always given the time to take a break from being caretaker over his siblings because his father was no good at it. It was the corner hub of their friendship; a place where they could always be themselves, full of laughter and great memories.

However, when they rolled in a quarter after nine, Ash was swearing.

"I forgot to tell her I was going to the game tonight. She's probably pissed." Ash muttered nervously, the wooden floors creaking under his feet. The lights were all out, aside from the one in the kitchen.

"Maybe we can just sneak in and out?" Brock suggested while pressing towards the stairs. Misty on the other hand didn't seem to mind as she started her ascend up the stairs.

Ash hissed; "Misty, what are you doing?"

"Puedo el bano something in french." She muttered and waved him off. "I have to pee. I'll be right back."

Typically, Ash would have sworn at her to use the downstairs washroom, but it was unavailable since a sewer back up blew the pipping a few weeks ago. They were waiting for a plumber that seemed to always forget where the Ketchum residence was. Ash decided that instead of fighting with Misty, who was painfully light on her feet, he followed Brock into the kitchen.

"Hey, she didn't make dinner tonight." Brock noted while he scooped up the book that remained unmoved from breakfast that morning—the dishes weren't done, either. Which was odd for the home-making woman. Ash didn't seem to think much of it as he inhaled, eyes fluttering slightly. He pursed his lips.

"Pikachu?" Ash made kissing noises, listening to the bound of the golden retriever from upstairs. Ash raised his eyebrows while Brock scoffed, listening to the dog's paws scamper against the wooden floors as it made its way down the stairs.

"I can't believe you named your dog after a video game." Brock chuckled while shaking his head.  
"Hey man, Pikachu was the best." Ash grimaced slightly, eyebrows furrowed. On cue, the dog rounded the corner, only it lacked the typical excitement that it usually had. The dog's tail was tucked between his legs, his head down until Ash dipped down to pat the dog on the head, only when it looked up to its owner, is snout was red as if it had been trying to lick something.

"Whats that on your face, bud?" Ask grimaced, leaning down to view the sad-looking dog.

All alarms went off in Ash's head only seconds later when Misty's blood curling scream echoed from upstairs.

"Misty!?" Ash yelled for her, charging past Pikachu as Brock dropped his book onto the floor and ran after Ash and up the stairs toward the scream.

From down the hall, the two boys could hear Misty's faint cries. "Delia?" she called loudly, the light turning on followed by a very devote "Oh, god." Ash reached the door as Misty had, grabbing him by the shoulders and thrusting him away from the door.

A sort of _horrible_ smell penetrated Ash's nostrils right away, like rotten milk, of a softer variation... like the after smell of the empty pools during winter.

"I need a phone!" Misty screamed, pawing at Ash's pockets to fetch his phone—she had left hers in the car. She dialed the emergency contact number as she pushed Ash up and away from the door; leaving room for Brock to walk in.

"Oh my fuck!" Brock yelped at the entrance, only setting off more triggers in Ash's mind as he looked up at his old companion; eyes wide and wild.

"Brock do not let him in there!" Misty shrieked, slamming her hand on the wall beside Ash's head so he wouldn't try to dart around her; the phone call went through and Brock ran inside, leaving Ash in the hallway with only a frantic Misty to stare at. On the palms of her left hand, the one that held the device to her ear, he could see blood. His face paled.

"What's going on?" he muttered quietly, only drawing her frantic gaze away from the phone conversation for a moment.

"Hello? I need an ambulance at 201 Pallet Street right now! There's been an accident, it's an emergency!" the urgency and terror in her voice tore at his insides. She was unable to say the proper words; they hung off her tongue but Ash couldn't question them.

"Misty, what happened!?" Ash's voice rose disquieted, trying to move pass Misty as tears stung her eyes and she grabbed Ash's wrist to keep him in place in the hallway.

"Ash, don't!" She yelled into the phone, trying to keep him still and the operator on the line informed—but Ash wasn't interested in that. He could careless what the operator had to say, or Misty right now, for that matter. He ripped his wrist free of her grasp and charged into his mother's bed room with Misty hot on his heels. She tried to protect him from seeing it.

...but it was too late, he saw the body. The blood. The contorted, cold expression.

If it was possible for someone's heart to stop beating for a millisecond, for every muscle in his body to stop working all at the same time, for every nerve ending in his face and his arms to die in a split second—Ash would have felt all of these at that single moment. Kneeling beside his mother who laid on the ground near the foot of her bed was Brock, checking for a pulse probably the same way that Misty had only seconds ago.

"...Mom?"

 **Author's note 2016:** _edit:2.27.16_

Realized the author's note was kind of angst-y and a lot personal so I edited it. Sooorry guys.

So this was started back in 2012 and I recently discovered it again, edited it (sort of), posted it...Today's a weird day for this is what wanted to be written today; and since I found it. I felt compelled to.

This is marked M for safety and mature audiences so, if you don't like it, this time I'm asking that you don't comment on it.

I'm just putting this out there for my peace of mind.

 _ **The five steps of grieving**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2 of 7: Denial and Isolation**

"Mom?"

The words fell into the cold room as Ash faced the lumbering darkness of the far end of the room. Brock stood up quickly, and not so gently rushed forward and force an awestruck Ash out of the bed room. Away from the terrible scene.

Ash staggered backwards, arms up and flailing in front of him, his face pale and stomach churning while Misty grabbed him and brought him backwards with her until his face contorted like a small child's.

"What..what's happening?" he asked worriedly when he saw Misty hand off the phone to Brock, whose words were stammered as he walked in and out of the bed room frantically, pulling on his hair.

 _I think she's dead_. He heard Brock utter once in the bedroom.

Ash was sitting now; though he had no idea when his knees decided to give out. Had it not been for Misty, he might have collapsed and hurt himself.

"Ash." She called for him, though he could barely hear her through all of the fog in his head.

"Look at me." she demanded, pulling him in with her gorgeously large, green eyes. His heart ached.

"I need you to stay with me." She mumbled, slipping her soft hand up and down his forearms, trying to sooth the nature of the situation. But didn't she know? She couldn't fix this.

In disbelief, Ash hunched forward, his hat falling from his head and onto the ground beside Misty as he rested his head against her upper chest, taking in the perfumes of wildflowers rather than the stagnant wet towel scent radiating from the bedroom. His eyes felt heavy, dry, and sore. As if they betrayed him.

When the front door swung open down stairs, he heard a startled Pikachu bark. For a moment, Ash's eyes were torn away from Misty, whose touch felt like nothing on his numb skin. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his fingers curled into the back of her shirt—though he had no recollection of when they found their way there.

A haze. A blur. Everything moved in slow motion, and super speed at the same time.

"In here." Brock called to the Emergency Medical services as they carried large red duffel bags into the bedroom where his _mother_ was. They scoot through the house without a word beside "Thank you" when they pushed past Brock.

From his position cowering behind Misty, Ash could see the shock on Brock's face. Ash simply watched the reflection in Brock's eyes as he looked at the women checking on the downed Delia. They didn't even need to set their bags down. They took one look at the feeble, bruised and bleeding body, and straightened their backs, shaking their heads.

Ash followed this in Brock's eyes, and then he was standing once more; accidentally knocking Misty, who was also occupied with watching Brock, away from him. The two women approached Ash in the hallway, and shifted as Ash glowered at them.

"Well?" Ash mumbled impatiently.

"There's nothing that we can do." The lady on the right told Ash with trained composure. Misty's hands were on Ash's shoulders a second later to keep his rage contained. He was shaking violently. He could not control himself.

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do!?" he screamed, the walls creaked at his booming voice.

"She already passed. I'm so sorry."

At her words, Ash grew limp once more, the suddenness hitting him like a tidal wave. Misty's eyelashes lowered as she allowed Ash to slump comfortably into her arms. The red-head hoped against hope that this wouldn't be the case... that, _this_ wouldn't have happened, that there was some miracle that could bring the dead back to life, but this was it. When the EMS arrived, the body was already cold. Rigor mortis set in—she had already been dead for hours.

But certainly, Ash wouldn't know all of this.

"I need to call Oak." Ash murmured beneath his breath while the medical woman looked to Misty.

"Are you the relative?"

"No. This is her son." Misty mumbled, gesturing to Ash. Brock fumbled to hand Ash a phone while he inhaled. Ash promptly ignored the medic.

His mother was dead. _Has been dead_. His stomach churned slightly, feeling dinner, or what ever concession stand food they had earlier rising to the back of his throat. _Dead_ he repeated, his fingers scrolling past Oak's name several times as he tried to rationalize what was happening. Around him Misty explained the situation, how Ash's dog, Pikachu approached her when she left the bathroom—the smell, oh, the _smell_ \- Ash would never be able to forget it. When Misty walked in, she said she found Ms. Ketchum sitting up, so Misty nudged her to see if she was okay and..

"I don't believe this." Was all Ash managed breaking at the story, his phone falling from his shaking fingers and shattering against the wooden floorboards. He had talked with his mom just that morning—they had breakfast and she was _Fine!_ How could this happen?!

His feet were moving before his brain could catch up. His body reacted by pushing past the emergency medical women, and stumbling inside of the bedroom once more; the smell nearly knocked the sense right out of him as he approached the frigid, stiff body of his _mother._

He could have sworn Brock and Misty yelled at him, swore at him: "Stop!" they had tried to tell him; but he could only hear white noise. Lack of all coherent thoughts as he drew closer, hovering over _the body,_ Misty grasped his left hand. She ran after him, but before she could yank him away, he saw _her_ face and his stomach churned and his heart froze.

This morning, _her_ face was so full of color, they joked about the weather man, his next swim meet, and taking a long awaited trip to the coast of Vermillion City. She always worked so hard. Offered him smiles when she should have been frowning—forgave him when she should have punished him. The life and light was gone from her face now, replaced with an expression of deep molded pain and blood. _So. Much. Blood._ From her eyes, her ears and her nose, it pooled down her chin, to her finger tips which coiled like stiff tree branches. Ash could see where Pikachu had tried to wake the passing woman.

Ash's body shook, Misty didn't have the strength to pull him away; so Brock lunged in, taking Ash by the neck and pulling him away from the corpse.

The body.

Away from his _mother_.

 **XOXS**

Somehow, Gary and Professor Oak had been alerted of the situation and when they arrived moments after Ash's _episode_ , he lost it again. This time, Ash flung his arms at his childhood friend who was as shocked as he. When Gary looked at the glum faces of Misty and Brock, he knew without Ash needing to mutter relentlessly, that Delia was dead.

Professor Oak couldn't believe it himself. Before the Police arrived, Professor Oak tried to rush past Ash to look into the bed room.

"Don't." Ash growled, forcing the professor away from the bedroom door.

"We should check." Oak argued, though Ash's face screwed up and he swung his fists at the older man.

"They said not to touch the body!" Ash yelled, tears streaming down his face. His cracking voice silenced the rest of the house temporarily, including the police who were walking in at that moment.

 **XOXS**

Ash sat in the living room, he was sure the police were talking to him; but he wasn't exactly sure of his responses. Of they were correct or not—if Misty and Brock hadn't been there to fill in the blanks, he might not have known his own name at that very moment.

Did she have any health problems?

 _No._

Was she ever depressed?

 _No._

Has she been to the hospital recently for any check ups?

 _No._

Had any illnesses?

 _No._

Then they asked him the spelling of her name a million times. _D-e-l-i-a K-e-t-c-h-u-m,_

Her maiden name?

 _That was her maiden name._

At some point, he recalled Professor Oak stepping in to talk—to better answer the questions that Ash knew, but couldn't voice. The numbness in his mind prevented him from speaking. His fingers were entwined with Misty's through the ordeal—not for a sense of intimacy, but as an iron grip to prevent him from losing himself. He was sure her hand would be bruised tomorrow—but she didn't complain, and he wasn't ready to let go. Brock pampered him, offering coffee—tea—water, anything to get Ash to speak, but his muscles simply wouldn't allow him.

 _The body. The body, the body._

His _mother_.

Several times he rubbed his fingers through his scalp, recalling the events of the day. When did this happen? How could this happen? Was his mother sick?

... _Why_ would this happen? Why to _him?_ Was it punishment for forgetting to call? If he had called could this have been prevented?

"Ash." Gary murmured pulling him from his worsening thoughts while sitting eye level with him. He was kneeling on the ground in front of Ash, his hazel eyes watching Ash's deep brown ones. A glaze formed over Ash's eyes, and he could feel Misty sitting beside him on the arm of the chair, trying to curl her fingers for circulation.

Had he passed out?

No. It hadn't even been ten minutes since the police arrived. Was he stuck in slow motion? Was this also punishment for something he had done wrong? Funny, since Ash always prided himself on making the _correct_ decisions.

"Listen to me." Gary tried, though his words were like rubber. "My grandfather and I are going to take you to our house, okay?"

Ash's response came quickly. Too quickly. "No." He said flatly, unable to look at the boy he was rivals with most of his life. Gary frowned in response.

"Ash, please."

Misty sighed quietly. "Gary, leave him alone for now."

"Misty, he's-"

"Go." Brock commanded walking up beside Gary who allowed his shoulders to slump—like Misty and Brock, he didn't know what to do in this situation. He just didn't want to see _Ash like this._

Misty fidgeted beside Ash again, and habitually Ash moved over in the large recliner that sat beside the bookshelf in the living room—naturally big enough for two people-she slipped beside him slowly. On many occasions, he shared the seat with Misty, most often when she would come over with all of their friends.

All of his friends... his family. Ash grimaced as Misty coiled her fingers again. He glanced downward to see them turning red under his intense grip, and he loosened his hold—if only enough to elicit a faint sigh of relief.

Gary spoke with Professor Oak about Ash near the entrance of the living room—Ash wasn't even sure how he had gotten down the stairs. Pikachu remained loyally at Ash's feet, his body limp and disoriented as much as Ash's head was.

Seeming to snap back to reality at the sound of the paramedics voice whispering near the stairs, Ash looked awkwardly at Misty when he heard the thump of the men's boots.

"What are they doing?" Ash gasped, pain coursing through his chest. Normally when Misty would brush her hand up against his thigh it was comforting, a relaxing motion that brought shudders down his spine. Right now, pleasant shudders were replaced by pins and needles.

"They're taking her." Misty fought for the correct words; and Ash's chest went concave.

Only when he tried to touch his face, did he realize that not only was he holding onto Misty; he had taken the same iron grip to Brock's left hand—only, Brock was holding on just as tightly.

 **XOXs**

Ash ended up following Misty back to her house—even though Professor Oak and Gary insisted on him going with them, Misty assured them that he would be okay. For the first time in years, Pikachu was allowed to ride inside the blue vehicle, on her black interior, and she didn't complain.

"I need my hand to drive." Misty told him as she walked him to the passenger door. Ash blinked motionlessly at her, his skin three shades whiter than usual as he watched Professor Oak shut the lights off in his house.

 _Two minutes past midnight._

"Ash." She muttered kindly. "Let go."

His breath left his body, eyes never leaving the house he spent the last seventeen years living in with his mother. "I _can't._ "

 **XOXs**

For the first time in years, when Ash walked into Misty's house, he was met with an overwhelming silence. Two of her sisters, Lily and Violet, had been out of town for the week—visiting some school in a far away region for 'scholarship application' or as Ash fondly called it: partying.

Daisy was home alone when she got the phone call from Brock on the way back from his mother's house. Brock still needed a ride home—and couldn't leave his young siblings home alone to fend for themselves in the morning, so with a heavy heart, he gripped Ash's shoulder.

 _"If you need anything. I'll come see you in the morning."_ He said gently before crawling out of the back seat; Ash barely looked at him, eyes forward. Dull.

Misty didn't talk to him the rest of the way to her house; she was always honest that way. She never made promises she couldn't keep so the utterance "it'll be okay" would never leave her mouth. Instead, she thoughtfully held his hand when she didn't need to hold the steering wheel, and played with his fingers—just to remind him that she was still there.

When they made it back to her house, she was _still_ there, running after drinks and food for him—as well as passing hurried, quiet conversation with Daisy.

Ash was reluctant to sit in the quiet living room, where he shared only happy and fun memories with his friends, so when he arrived, he stalked upstairs into Misty's bedroom, where he slumped onto her bed, and hadn't moved for the last hour.

"He needs time." he heard Daisy mumble outside of Misty's door.

"I know." The redhead returned affectionately and creaked the door open.

She held a mug in one hand, and a glass of water in the other when she approached her night table and placed them on top. Her room was, as any teenagers should be, mostly a disaster zone—but for Ash who was still shaken up; it was comforting to see the normalcy of her room. Unchanged, not like everything else.

"I brought you some hot cocoa." Misty mumbled while taking a seat at the foot of the bed and watching him. He didn't move.

She didn't expect him to.

They sat in silence for a few minutes; the low hum of her bright fish tank in the corner keeping the room from over bearing silence. Unsure of what else to do, Misty sighed while standing up. She dipped over the edge of the bed, and pried Ash's shoes from his feet, much to his chagrin.

"What are you doing?" he grunted as the swift motion pulled his thoughts to her.

"You need to sleep." She mumbled. Ash put his head back down.

"Don't wanna." he murmured, though Misty wasn't set to make an argument.

She worked her way up, familiarly unbuckling his belt and jeans, and pulled them off with his socks before discarded them. Usually, Ash remembered, such an action would have excited him to no end. Her abrasive nature left little room for foreplay on normal days, but today, the familiar movements made him colder than usual, made his entire body stiff. Seconds later, she dropped her blue and black comforter over his arms, and fluffed out the ends with her fingers.

Earning a look of surprise from Ash when she turned the fish tank off, he watched her in the darkness as she changed out of her jean shorts and the overly-tight tank top she put on for the game, and into loose fitting pajamas. He blinked, her silhouette so familiar, yet so disturbing in the dark.

"Turn the fish tank back on." He murmured, unable to remove the _image_ from his mind. The permanent scar of blood transfixed into his mind.

Misty blinked back at him, her green eyes gleaming in the dark before she stepped over her discarded clothes, to the pristine fish tank, and did as he asked. The illumination soothed his nerves and he laid his head back once more.

She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and approached Ash, leaning over to kiss him on the temple lovingly.

"I'll just be down stairs." She muttered, and Ash blinked frantically. A look of sheer panic fumbling through his dark eyes as she turned to leave.

"W-wait." he grasped her right hand, which already had bruises forming and released protectively. She hummed gently, forcing herself not to wince when he touched her again, and then turned back around to face him. His worried eyes drew her in as she climbed over his legs and onto the bed beside him, listening and accepting his silent plea as she slipped into the covers beside him, and wrapped his entire torso between her arms. Her took in her scent before anything else, wanting to forget the stench that plagued his normal well-scented home.

She said nothing.

But she didn't have to.

 **XOXS**

Ash didn't sleep, and since he did not. Misty did not either. She slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, though, while Ash sat wide awake through the gruesome six hours until sunrise; watching the clock tick.

Maybe it was all a nightmare? It wasn't that he wasn't exhausted, it was simply that when he closed his eyes, he couldn't get _her_ out of his head. He would never forget that image. _Never_. Blue and black and _blood._

At some point during the night, their positions had switched to Ash cradling Misty in his arms. A normal action—something he typically got in trouble for. Not from Misty.

From his mom.

For staying at a girls house.

For staying at _Misty's_ house, overnight. Without adult supervision.

His heart twisted in his chest, remembering the sound of his mother's voice blaring at him when he would return home a quarter after two, an hour past sun rise—trying to sneak in through his window, tip-toe up the stairs. She always caught him. Always forgave him.

His face contorted when Misty's eyes snapped open once again. Sleep deprived, bags formed under her eyes, and Ash instinctively stroked the back of her head, though it was Misty who sat up first; looking to the window which was splashed with morning light. Her eyes were bloodshot, and he was sure his didn't look any better.

"Sorry." She muttered, rubbing her eyes though Ash couldn't think what she was apologizing for. He stroked her red hair again. His mom had red hair; his hand dropped quickly.

A knock came to the door shortly after, Daisy's head poked in to reveal neatly done up blonde hair.

"I made breakfast." She murmured, looking at the couple passively. "Are you two going to come down or..?"

Misty looked at Ash, who in response sat up slowly.

"Give me a minute." Ash grumbled, shaking from an obvious lack of sleep.

"Thanks Daisy." Misty murmured, waving slightly to her sister as she popped out of bed and collected yesterdays pants for Ash. He took them sparingly, and gawked at them.

"I'll have a shower first, actually." His voice was barely there, so Misty had to register his words before nodding.

"I think I have some of your clothes here, still." She muttered while turning to fish through her dresser drawers. Like she thought, she had several variations of Ash's clothes, and walked them over to him with a forced smile. Taking them from her hands, he rose to his feet with his shoulders slumped.

"Will you check on Pikachu?" Ash muttered, and Misty nodded; recalling that the dog had refused to follow Ash up the stairs last night, in stead, it opted to stay with Misty's cats, which seemed to swarm him protectively.

"Yeah."

He didn't look at her. "Thanks." He tossed his hand up before sulking into the washroom just down the hall from her bedroom. With worried eyes, Misty sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. What was she supposed to say?

 **XOXS**

Showering would be the easiest task of the day. His body was stiff, his back ached from the position he slept in; but when he crawled into the collective female-death trap, he sunk to the shower floor, and wrapped his arms around his knees as the nearly scalding hot water pelted him.

He was dreaming.

This wasn't really happening.

So why was it any time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was _her_? His mother lying cold on the ground, bleeding from every orifice. _Why_?

At some point he had dozed off, exhaustion beating out fear.

Even the sting of the ice cold water pelting his skin did not stir him awake; the grip of Misty shaking him did. The water was still running, but the moment his eyes opened, Misty released him and shut the valve off.

"Are you okay?" She hissed, her hair wet. Ash rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, collecting some level of consciousness.

"Yeah..." he muttered to her direct question as she frantically ripped a towel off the hanger beside the shower and threw it over him.

"I must have fallen asleep..." Ash grunted, only realizing now how cold he was. He was shivering and Misty did her best to cover him.

"I'd say so. You've been in here for almost an hour."

"You only now checked on me?" he poked lightheartedly, but the blush that crossed over Misty's face told him that was not true. She was nothing if she was not a worrier.

"I just thought I would let you sleep it off—when you slumped into the bottom of the bath though..." She explained, gesturing to his position. He sat up slowly, rubbing his sore neck.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." She said accepting him as he was. "We saved you some breakfast, Daisy put it into the microwave." She paused worriedly. "The Oaks and Brock are here."  
"I'm not hungry." he said flatly, but Misty didn't respond—her way of saying "you're going to eat anyways."

He dressed himself, still shivering from the ice water, and then followed Misty thoughtlessly down the stairs and into the living room. He hadn't bothered to comb his hair so it poked out in very direction—he noticed that Misty had changed her clothes and likely showered in the bathroom down stairs in his absence. Brock was seated at the table where Ash's eyebrows furrowed depressingly.

"You have a test today." he spoke quietly, recalling Brock's words from yesterday.

"It's okay." Brock assured the raven-haired boy.

"No it's not." Ash lashed out surprisingly. "You need to go to school still, and take your test." Ash demanded, thrusting his back pack at Brock.

Flabbergasted, Brock looked worriedly at Ash. Misty swooped in to separate the two of them.

"Calm down."

"And you!" He snapped, looking at Misty. "Stop being so nice." he muttered, falling into the chair at the table and holding his head down.

He wanted everything to be normal.

 _Normal_.

 **XOXs**

Misty drove him to the Oak Residence which was at the hill top of Kanto City. Somehow he had been functioning enough to walk to the car, feed Pikachu and eat _a little bit_ , but he hadn't been functioning well enough to speak to her since his freak out at breakfast.

"Ash." Misty tried, and his glazed eyes turned at her, an answer in their own right. She leaned over and brushed her lips against his forehead while Brock slipped out of the back of the blue impala. Ash sniffed the air and closed his eyes worriedly.

"We will take care of you, okay? Just let us know what you want." Misty told him before getting out of the car and walking around to the other side to let Ash out. He stared at the large building before him where Professor Oak and Gary had already started speaking to one another about _funeral_ arrangements. Ash's stomach sank.

Like yesterday, Misty offered him her left hand, and Ash took it mercilessly.

Was it too late to ask for his mom?

 **XOXS**

The gist of the meeting was interrupted by many bouquets being sent to the Oak residence, people stopping in to give their condolences, and people Ash had not seen in years stopping in to drop off flowers. There were so many flowers, he thought that he might have walked into a floral shop on his way to the kitchen, which was also bombarded with food—and the lovely scent of pizza.

"How did they know to send everything...?" Visibly uncomfortable and mentally drained, he asked Misty, who was still being tagged along by the hand, thankfully not as tightly as yesterday.

"Gary put up a note at your house and on social networking..."

"He what?" Ash snapped, gathering his friends attention. "Who gave him that right?" Ash barked, glaring at Gary. Misty squeezed his hand.

"Calm down." She mused pathetically, but he was fuming.

He can't.

"Why should we give anyone else the time of day when they never visited her to begin with!?" Ash shrieked, though also attached to Ash's melt down was a release of Misty's hands as he stormed off outside; blowing open the glass sliding doors and marching down the wooden steps leading into the small meadow behind the Oak's mansion.

"We should go after him..." Brock tried, but Misty shook her head whilst tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"No. Give him some time to breathe." She looked at Mr. Oak, who she recognized as being equally as sleep deprived as Ash and grimaced.

"Let's go over Delia's funeral and obituary and get that set up...get Ash a list of funeral homes to go to; how it's going to get paid for."

"I can start a fund for him..." Gary muttered while flicking through his smart phone. Misty murmured something under her breath and rubbed the back of her neck.

"We need to call the school as well," She looked at Brock who nodded eagerly, wanting to help. Across from him, Oak's face softened when Misty spoke again. "We should also call any living relatives that he has... Do you know where his father is?" Misty mumbled, though the older man shook his head.

She crossed her arms, looking into the field where she saw Ash standing motionlessly. His hair whipping with the gentle breeze and his pasty skin flushed red from the sun.

"Let's focus on the details then..." Her voice jerked a bit when she twisted her head to approach the desk in the corner of the kitchen area, and boot up the computer.

 **XOXS**

Misty made the phone call to Delia's insurance company out of her booklet she stashed in her china cabinet. Luckily, she was insured by Indigo Reserves for mortgage life insurance—unfortunately, that didn't cover any actual accidental death; or her outstanding car loan, or the loans she had on her electronics, or anything else. Misty had no idea Ash's mother was in so much debt—but only working a minimum wage position and being a single mother; Misty wasn't too surprised.

Ash was going to need a lawyer to protect the house that would automatically fall to him at the decease of his mother; because technically, that meant all her outstanding loans fell to Ash, as well. Loan companies would attempt to salvage unpaid loans from the only thing Delia had that was worth any money—her house.

It was ironic in a way—who got life insurance for their home, but not for themselves? Obviously, Delia didn't think she was going to pass away anytime soon.

Ash agreed to take his mother to Silver Funeral Home on the west side of town—he picked it because of the name—his mother loved the color silver, and often fancied silver cutlery. According to Misty, it was also one of the least expensive.

Professor Oak offered to help with expenses, but that didn't mean fifteen grand was anything to bark at.

 **XOXS**

Ash was mostly okay with Misty and Oak taking over, the funeral home director asked Ash the simple questions—where he wants to bury her, which flowers she liked, what color of the casket they should buy her. Her favorite song and quotes—what she liked to do; who her relatives were. But he asked Misty and Samuel Oak the big questions.

Simple questions; yet, so nerve wracking—they asked as if she was still here; as if they should be planning a celebration party—not deciding on which color and which shape they should buy for a casket.

In the end, Ash selected a red mahogany casket with silver trimming, averaging a total price of 6,000 dollars. Expensive, but perfect. It had red velvety insides that his mother would have swooned over, and if she was going to spend eternity staring up at the same four corners. It might as well be pretty.

Ash is grateful for his friends; his _family_ , but they don't sooth his discomfort, they can't calm is rage—they can't fix what is happening by patting him on the shoulders or by rubbing his back. Ash was going to be burying his mother.

As they closed up the session with the funeral director, a pleasant man whose optimism made Ash want to throttle the poor man, the total came to 23,000 dollars. The price of a new car, or in Ash's case—two semesters in university.

"And will she be cremated?"  
"My mom didn't believe in cremation." Ash spoke—the first direct question he answered since arriving in the overly lit, overly optimistic scenery. For a place that only talked about dead people, it looked and acted a lot like a church. Ash grimaced at the thought.

"Then we will need to account for putting in a plot and headstone..."

Misty rubbed the back of her neck while the man pointed to some numbers, and the look of

"She would want to be buried next to her parents." Ash added solemnly, and Misty shot him a glance.

"And do you know where that is?" The funeral director asked, smiling.

Ash didn't like his smile, and so he returned it with a scowl. "South side cemetery, row sixteen. It's an entire section dedicated to the Ketchum Family." Ash rattled off the top of his head—having thought a lot about his deceased grandparents since the loss of his mother. Misty stroked his leg beneath the table—more for her own comfort than his. She hated seeing him so distant.

"Alright, we can work that out with the cemetery director over there and get everything planned out." the man said while clacking his overly white teeth. Ash bit his tongue. Once again, he directed Ash to the price listed at the bottom with the headstone and plot added in. With the flower arrangements, the rental of the funeral homes chapel, the written obituary and all of the extras; the total was estimated at 30,000 dollars; even going the cheapest they possibly could.

Ash shook his head. What a money grab.

Before they left, Ash was told to sign some papers; and if he wanted, he could bring a set of clothes from his mother's home that he would want her to wear for her 'eternal rest'.

Ash nodded solemnly, though did not acknowledge the hospitable man. After signing the papers, he left Misty and Oak to work out the details, and then marched to Misty's car where he took a seat in the passengers side, taking in the scent of chlorine and sun screen that was amplified from the hot sun, he let out a sigh.

His mom was really gone. This was really happening. He scoffed at his own disbelief. They would get her body back from the morgue tomorrow—the funeral would be in two days. There was a private viewing tomorrow for family and close friends, and the funeral would take place on the 18th at 9:00am. Open casket, followed by a service and reception.

 _Reception_ , weren't those usually for weddings?

Ash would read her Eulogy—Ash had to _write_ her eulogy. That was the one thing he was determined to do from the get-go. Though, he had only conveyed this message to Misty, who was now strolling back to the parked impala with her keys in her hand, tossing a quick goodbye to Brock who walked to Gary's car.

She opened the door, and suddenly, Ash was very curious.

Quickly, he asked: "Where are they going?"

"They're going to find the plot number and Brock has to run home quick to grab an extra set of clothes. They'll meet us back at your house." She hesitated to speak, worried that she might set him off; but when he replied with a simple "oh", she knew that she had been mistaken.

She checked her mirrors before pulling out of her parking stall. He seemed not so shut off anymore—but with the direction they were going, she wasn't sure how long that would last.

"How are you doing?" She managed.

"Do you want me to answer that honesty?" He admit while placing his head against the window. Misty glanced at him while clicking on her seat belt, and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Only if you want to." She said sweetly, and Ash sighed.

"I have no idea how I'm going to pay for all of this." he muttered, recalling the information Misty passed on to him about his mother's outstanding loans.

"The Oak's said they would help, and Gary opened a fund raiser for you..." Misty mumbled reassuringly, but even Ash wasn't so bad with numbers.

"That's not even going to put a dent in it, even I know that." He grumbled, slouching.

Her hand brushed against his thigh and she squeezed it gently before pulling off onto the side road that would give them a short-cut back to his house.

"We will figure something out." She told him optimistically, though her face looked beaten and tired. Even so, Ash looked at her appreciatively.

 **XOXS**

30,000 dollars didn't seem like a lot to Ash Ketchum. His mom was worth much more than that, so when he and his friends started going through photo albums, Ash lightened up, _slightly._ Recalling events from their childhood with his mother—as well as discovering information he never thought he would see—such as his mom's rebellious years, and a few pictures of his father.

Together, he, Brock, Misty, Gary and Professor Oak created a collage that Ash was very eager to work on.

They scanned old pictures, printed new ones, and pasted them onto large black boards until the wee hours of the night. Ash had actually eaten a full meal, and did not look so sickly—but his mind was occupied. Busy denying what had happened. If only for a little while, he could go back to the days when his mother smiled the brightest, and he was just a kid with a skinned knee and a broken bike.

Back when everything was simple.

 _Happy._

 **XOXs**

The third day was a bit easier, waking up Ash didn't feel so stiff, and thanks to a 'trick' from Misty, he slept like a baby. Also known as, she spiked his tea last night. Other then that, everything was a blur; the business agreements were a blur, breakfasts, eating, sleeping, sitting; he blinked and he woke up in another world. One without his mother.

The Oak's house was swamped by the end of the third day with groceries, cards and flowers; all given to Ash by people he hardly knew—people that loved his mother. Misty helped him keep an eye on the money he received in cards, and helped organize the food baskets that he incurred.

Seeing everyone, all these people that were touched by his mother's life nearly knocked the breath out of him. He never imagined that his mother was so popular—many people loved her—many people grieved because of absence. Not just Ash; but still, he was tired of seeing their sad, sullen faces. Tired of the passive, sympathetic glances he was given by everyone—everyone but Misty.

"Misty." He mumbled to her, catching her off guard in the kitchen.

"What's up?" She asked smoothly.

"Take me home."

"I'm sorry?" She asked, surveying the guests. His face screwed up. He couldn't be here anymore; forcing himself to smile when all he wanted to do was collapse on the floor.

"Please." He pleaded, knowing that she heard him the first time. She glanced around, and then nodded.

"Yeah, no problem."

 **XOXs**

Ash appreciated that Misty knew which _home_ he was speaking of—if she had driven him to his mother's house, he might have broken down into a fit of tears; but she knew better. When they pulled into the drive way of the Waterflower residence, Ash was relieved to see that Daisy was not home, but at work for the day; giving him a break from human interaction, at least for a little while.

"Well, we're here." She said with a breathy sigh while pushing open her door. Pikachu rushed to greet Ash, scampering wildly at his feet.

"Hey, boy." Ash mused, rubbing his nose against the gray fur on the golden dog, scratching the fur around his neck.

"You been a good boy?" Ash asked, scratching behind his ears while Misty tossed her purse and keys onto the table beside the entrance doors and looked back at Ash.

She didn't say anything; only observed the way he interacted with Pikachu, and then gave a short, strangled noise.

"Do you need help with the eulogy?" Misty asked abruptly, reading the expression on his face as he looked up at her.

 _Yes._

 **XOXs**

Later that night, as they were preparing for the viewing, he watched the redhead carefully while she tugged on the hem of her knee-length black skirt and sickly green blouse. She didn't own many simple, casual _adult_ looking clothing—most of her skirts outside of her school uniform were three inches too short, and most, if not all of her wardrobe consisted of tight tank-tops, and oversized t-shirts.

The one outfit she did have was a pale green—he hated her in pale green.

"I hate that color on you." he muttered as she spun around to glare at him.

"Thanks." she added sarcastically, tempted to rip off the stupid, green blouse and try again. Ash approached her calmly and touched the folds of the blouse while she straightened his vest and smoothed the folds in his button-up shirt.

An eternity passed before Ash spoke again, twisting and untwisting his fingers into her soft collar before he dipped his head in to kiss her soft pink lips. She clamped her mouth shut, trying to distract her surprise with a look of concern, but Ash saw through it—easily blinking and offering her a very weak and fragile smile in return.

"I love you." He mumbled under his breath—she almost didn't hear it.

The three words neither had ever said to one another finally uttered under these circumstances. Her mouth opened and then closed thoughtfully.

"...I love you, too."

An instant after the words left her mouth, his arms were wrapped around her torso tightly, his face buried in the crook of her neck and she wrapped her arms weakly around his back and nuzzled her nose into the fabric of his shirt.

 _I love you_. She repeated to herself, and shut her eyes tightly.

 **XOXs**

Ash was fifteen minutes early for the viewing; he laughed at himself. The first time he had ever been early in his life, and it was for _this_.

The same smiling dead-man associate from before greeted them at the door; one of the collages they created was at the front of the lobby—a preparation for the funeral tomorrow morning.

Now that he was standing here, he could hardly remember how he got here. He was petrified and tempted to run away at the same time—had he not been monitored by Misty endlessly, he might have actually decided to skip the viewing.

"Ah, you're early!" The man said overly chipper—enough so that Ash would not have minded knocking out a few of those neatly brushed teeth.

He wasn't even sure what to say to the man, luckily, Misty, in that pale-green blouse was able to rectify the situation before Ash made an ass of himself.

"Will he get a few minutes alone?" Misty asked, her words, her question sending a shiver up his spine.

"A...alone?" Ash murmured beside her, and she pat his arm gently in support.

"Ah, yes, if he wants." the man said and Ash shook his head.

 _Closure_ they said. Seeing her in the casket. This would bring him _closure_.

"I can go with you..." Misty mumbled, but Ash shook his head vehemently, and released her arm.

"No...I'll be okay."

He was lying, of course.

 **XOXs**

That was the first step to recovery; telling people what they wanted to hear. Misty, Brock and Gary could see through that charade, however—which was probably why Misty asked him to go in so early.

So he had time.

All the time he needed.

He pushed open the strong oak doors leading into an open room with plush chairs on either side of the casket that sat in the center of the small room. Beside it, a podium, like someone would find at a museum. Ash gulped. Not even a foot in the door—and he was already nervous, too scared to take another step, and too brave to retreat.

 _All the time that he needed_.

Was an eternity too much to ask for? Maybe even another twenty, thirty years?

Hell, at this point—Ash would have accepted one more day, just so long as he had time to tell his mother everything: that he loved about her, how special she was, and how important she was to him.

 _Just one more day._

Tears stung the corners of his eyes as the thought pressed his feet into movement. He could see her, higher in the coffin than he thought that she would be—puffy and covered in a heavy amount of make-up to cover the bruises and stains. She wore that emerald green dress she loved so much—the one she wore to all of Ash's banquets and award ceremonies. Her auburn hair was brushed awkwardly to one side, covering the scar left from the autopsy, and her hands, her stiff hands were crossed above her chest.

His breath hitched at the back of his throat.

"...Mom?" He whispered, as if praying to some god, what ever was up there, that they would strike him with a bolt of lightning, wake up him, tell him this was all some piratical joke—that she was faking and was going to wake up and open her beautiful hazel eyes and scold him for being such a rotten child over the years.

 _Maybe now you'll appreciate me more!_ She would scream at him.

But the closer he got, the more he realized this wouldn't happen—the more his eyes poured salty tears, the more his heart shattered into a million pieces.

She was cold, stiff, and not his mother anymore. His mother was warm, bright, and full of life. This was only a corpse.

Only a body in a casket.

All of those happy memories, dreams and promises—he would never share them with her again; he would never see her same-color of hazel eyes staring at him—he would never see _her_ again.

 **XOXs**

Ash wished he could remember the service; but everything after the viewing was a blur. He couldn't remember how he got back to Misty's house that night, how he got up this morning—or that he really even left the funeral home.

That was likely the most accurate description; he never left.

Unfortunately; he couldn't see his mother again—he couldn't see her like _that_ again. Sleeping was impossible now, _blinking_ was borderline insanity inducing. He closed his eyes, and her cold face was staring back at him.

He was supposed to give a eulogy that morning, but when he stood up at the podium to look out at the hundreds of people that filled the funeral home halls—his vocal cords gave out. One by one, Brock, Misty, and Gary made their way beside him to nudge him forward, and Ash could only gawk at their combined kindness and devotion.

Ash wasn't sure what he said—he knew it was good though, because Misty helped him write it. He wasn't sure if he stammered, or staggered or if he cried or not.

The words fell out of his mouth like a waterfall, and when he was finished; Misty and Brock guided him back to his seat—somewhere during the middle of the speech, he had, like he did on the first night; taken their hands, and proceeded to squeeze the life out of them.

Gary wrapped up the eulogy, and then opened the floor for people to share memories of Delia. Gary shared the first story, talking about how Delia was like his aunt; that Ash was his crazy cousin, and she was much his family as Ash is. He told a few stories of their childhood—but Ash couldn't for the life of him recall or make sense of his words. Ash was only focused on one thing.

He was going to bury his mother in less than an hour. Six feet under ground.

 **XOXs**

The preacher at the cemetery gave the normal talk about God's greater plan, and the circle of life. Some rubbish that was made to make family members feel better about death.

Ash didn't feel any better.

The flowers, peonies, to be exact, covered the entire top of the casket. Before the service was over, Ash was asked to place a flower on her casket before it was lowered—as a way of saying goodbye to the deceased, and he does without any thought going into it.

He already said his goodbyes. What else was he supposed to say?

 _Come back? Don't go?_ Those wouldn't exactly bring his mom back.

He stayed to watch them lower her into the ground, _six feet under_. He stayed to watch the man slowly bury her—he stayed even though everyone else left to attend the reception. He remained stoic through their apologize, through their condolences and their muted opinions.

He stays, because how else could he move on with his life, if he doesn't see it through until the very end? How would he live with himself, if he didn't see her off—one last time.

Behind him, Gary, Brock, and Misty stood as a group, watching Ash who gazed at the dirt with his hands in his pockets long after the last shovel of dirt was tossed over the top. Long after the mound had been created.

Long after the sun had set.

Long after storm clouds started to brew over head.

One by one, his friends left him. Gary first, at the call of his grandfather, Brock next at the call of his family, until finally, Misty's voice was Ash's only pull from silence.

"Are you ready?" She asked while propping an umbrella over his head, just in case.

Ready for what? A sudden thrust into adulthood? Ready to get a job? Face school? Go on with the rest of his life knowing that he would _never_ , _ever_ see his mother again outside of pictures? Ready to accept a life where existing meant moving on?

"No." he responded motionlessly.

"Are you planning on staying out here all night?" She countered.

"I might." He grumbled, his eyes never leaving the title left where a headstone would eventually be placed.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

He glanced at her, forgetting that she was his ride home through all of this. His eyebrows knit together.

"..No." He then turned back to his mom's grave marker, and dipped his fingers into the disturbed soil, leaving behind a small object he pulled from his pocket.

"Goodbye, _mom._ "

 **Author's Note:**

Many of you reading this have probably not lost someone before; but for reference, this goes really quick. Most people don't remember this section of loss so I wanted to portray it in that same light. Funerals are typically within a week of someone's passing, and all the planning is done in mere _days_. It feels like it should take forever, but it doesn't.

I'm not so sure what to say about this chapter, really; like I said in the previous one, if you don't like it; I'm asking you to keep it to yourself this time!

As I'm editing this, I'm worried that the characters won't be in character. Ugh. Editing stuff from 2012 sucks.

Also, this is the stage "Denial" and it's quite possibly one of the shortest stages of grieving (least it was for me); especially if you have seen the body of the recently deceased.

Next chapter is the stage "anger" and it gets...well, anger in grief really brings out the ugly in people and I didn't exactly ease up on that. This gets really dark before it gets better. Sorry in advance? Still feeling a little weird about this fic, so I'm not sure when I'll update it again. But, for now, ta-ta.

NINT


End file.
